“Poor old Mellor—'e warn't a bad sort, was he!”
“Ah!—an' Bell, Sergeant Bell... riddled they say... some one seen 'm—artillery or some one!”
It hung over them like a cloud. The men talked of nothing else.
“Somebody's blundered,” said one.
“It's a pity any'ow.”
“It's a disgrace to the ambulance—losin' men like that.”
And, also, it made the men nervous and unreliable. It was a shock.
CHAPTER XVII. “OH, TO BE IN ENGLAND!”
It may be that I have never grown up properly. I'm a very poor hand at pretending I'm a “grown man.”